


goddamn vigilantes

by brucewaynery



Series: iron man bingo fills [22]
Category: Marvel
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Identity Porn, James "Rhodey" Rhodes is a Good Bro, Light Angst, M/M, Nomad Steve Rogers, Pining, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Secret Identity, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-06 09:16:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20289079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brucewaynery/pseuds/brucewaynery
Summary: Who's this new guy, refuses to speak English, covered head to toe, that Tony can't seem to make himself move away from?identity porn. imb





	goddamn vigilantes

Tony was doing fine. Tony was doing better than fine, even, he was fucking fantastic, living his best damn life, in a huge <strike>lonely</strike> multimillion-dollar compound, he was a damn _superhero_, <strike>without the best goddamn partner he’s ever had</strike>, and he’s so over whatever happened in Siberia a year ago. He’s doing well for himself.

(He misses him so damn much it hurts. Looking at that fucking phone hurts, all of it feels like a dagger straight through the heart - he had, on more than one occasion, asked FRIDAY to check his heart for any actual strains. She’d said that, barring any existing conditions, nothing’s wrong.)

He’s still Iron Man-ing, Rhodey’s recovering well, he pretty much is all better, save for a few bad days - he took him to Wakanda and asked them to operate, the princess, Shuri asked for a ‘favour’ in return, which he’s not too sure what that means, but he’s willing to do anything for Rhodey, so he accepts without a complaint. He has a kid-- a prodigy to take care of now, something of a legacy. Which just sends his head in a spiral, so he tends not to think of it too deeply. These days he tries not to think of many things deeply.

New York still comes under attack on occasion, just weird scientists working for egomaniacs (some would say that he’s both rolled into one), no connection to gods and the like - Bruce and Thor are back though, which makes the compound more bearable, and there are a few more vigilantes on the streets. He’s met with one, Danny Rand, of Rand Enterprises, calls himself Iron Fist, which Tony tries not to take personal offence to. Rand told him that they have a little group there, call themselves Defenders, fight street crime in their spare time. 

He supposes that’s good, Peter might’ve even met them at some point, but he can’t escape the feeling that it’s just not enough, but he also accepts that they’re not the only ones, their small kerfuffle with Wakanda and King T’Challa proved that (the king called him one night, telling him that, if he wanted to know, he would tell him where Rogers is, as a favour to Rogers. Tony, as politely as he could, because, while there are many things he can afford, pissing off the king of Wakanda isn’t one of them, hung up, telling him maybe another time.).

His company is doing well, it often does when they end up pumping out as many products as they are right now, what with Tony spending all his time in his ‘shop. There’s no-one to pull him out with a smile now anyway.

Whatever. He can do more now anyway, without those constant interruptions.

(At some point between accepting that he would prefer those constant interruptions over ever touching a circuit board again and wanting to use and destroy that damn phone at the same time, he realises that the tiny ‘Yes’ in a bunker eight and a half thousand miles away broke his heart. That Rogers had that power.)

His suit is the fastest and the most durable it’s been, everything that he couldn’t do in Germany and Siberia he can do know. Just in case. Just in case he falls in love without realising it again, just in case they end up betraying and lying to him.

Or, you know, just to be a better Iron Man.

The speed and the durability comes in handy one day, when one overzealous (failed) businessman and his minion scientist sets a horde of giant mechanical wasps upon the borough of Brooklyn (which is just the second most hipster place in New York, just under Williamsburg, of course, and nothing else. Down the street is just a hotdog vendor, one of many, and not where Tony made Rogers laugh, really, laugh for the first time).

“You all laughed at the wasps, now you cry!” yelled Guepe-Homme, from his place, standing on one of the wasps.

Tony gets FRIDAY to start voice analysis and facial recognition to see who this guy is and goes to taunt him, he’s operating all of the wasps manually by the controls in his hand, so the longer he distracts him, the less damage there’ll be while everyone else (his team, the New Avengers? Team Iron Man? And a few masked vigilantes - he thinks he sees Danny around, meaning the rest of his people are here too) disables the wasps.

“Do you see anyone crying, hotshot?” Tony calls, attempting to aim a repulsor beam at the control, but he’s not stable enough for an accurate shot, even with FRIDAY. He puts that on the improvements list.

“Je-- Je ne vois personne, M. Stark, est-ce que vous,” _I-- I don’t see anyone, Mr. Stark, do you?_ one of the vigilantes says, he sounds a little choked up, but that could just be the fight. Probably is. No one in their right mind would go out into the field chock full of emotions. (Before, Tony waved off that advice, but now, after Siberia…)

He’s done his research so he’s reasonably sure that this one isn’t a Defender, unless they’ve added to their roster, but something about him, the way he’s handling the wasps, with practised ease, makes him think that he’s used to these large-scale fights. Not petty street crime.

Tony gets FRIDAY running voice on him as well, but all she gets is that he’s not native to France. Possibly American, maybe Canadian. Under 35, possibly 30. Somewhere between mid-20s and mid-30s - millennial. Which brings it down to about one and a half million possible candidates for the guy. Great. He did get a much better hit on Guepe-Homme, but that’s mostly because he’s not wearing a mask. He sends off the data to InterPol and SHIELD, about Guepe-Homme, not the masked guy.

The masked guy is in torn and old kevlar, some of it looks spray-painted, there’s some rips in it. The only thing that looks anywhere near new is the mask - entirely covering his face, even the eyes. Tony’s only ever seen a mask like that on one person - the Black Panther, but he’s not T’Challa. Tony knows this, not because of the voice recognition, but because T’Challa wouldn’t go into battle with a torn suit, or, at least, Shuri wouldn’t let him.

He sends another blast to the guy’s wasp, hoping to disable it, “Non, je ne,” _No, I don’t_, Tony says mildly. His french is a little rusty, but it comes back quickly. The guy nods. 

He’s possibly the friendliest vigilante he’s met, which isn’t really saying much, but still.

“Tones, stop flirting and get to it,” Rhodey’s voice crackles in his comm. “Ravi de vous rencontrer, homme mystère,” _Nice to meet you, mystery man_, he says, out loud - he must be using the translator, because, unless he’s being doing Duolingo in his spare time, Tony’s fairly sure that he doesn’t speak French.

The guy stumbles over his words a bit when he sees Rhodey, “Y a-t-il plus d'entre vous des Hommes de Fer?” _Are there more of you Iron Men?_ he asks, recovering quickly.

“Malheureusement non,” _Unfortunately, no_, Tony says, before he and Rhodey fly off.

“Lotta vigilante kids these days,” Rhodey says to him, after they’ve apprehended Guepe-Homme and they’re on clean-up. They’re almost done.

“Yeah,” Tony sighs, he feels old, like he should be passing on the baton to someone - to Peter, to the next generation, already, but neither of them are ready for that yet.

“M. Stark, Colonel Rhodes,” _Mr. Stark, Colonel Rhodes_, the masked guy calls. Tony turns to him and has FRIDAY check for any injuries, on instinct.

He shakes their hands. Tony doesn’t even know his name, but he’s making his way up, fast, on his list of favourite vigilantes.

They work together to clean in silence for a bit until Tony says, “We know you’re not really French, you can drop it.” 

“Votre programme d'intelligence artificielle?” _Your artificial intelligence program?_

“Something like that,” Tony says, entirely ignoring the looks Rhodey’s giving him, he can sense his… Rhodey-ness through the War Machine helmet. “There are about one and a half million people you could be.”

The guy hums, contemplative. Tony’s tempted to get FRIDAY to analyse his body language, but he doesn’t, “J'aurais dû choisir l'espagnol,” _I should’ve chosen Spanish_.

Now Tony’s intrigued. This guy is clearly smart, used to hiding, and he’s right, Spanish would’ve been the better choice by a mile (well, about five times). “Why didn’t you?”

The guy shrugs. “Je ne le sais pas aussi bien,” _I don’t know it as well_.

“As well?” Tony asks, lightly. That means he’s trilingual, which pulls down the numbers, a lot. To about 200 thousand.

“Merde.” _Shit_. He doesn't sound particularly concerned though, which throws Tony for a loop.

“You should probably get better at the whole ‘secret identity’ thing.”

“Vous êtes un pour parler, M. Stark,” _You’re one to talk, Mr. Stark_.

Tony doesn’t really know what to say to that, and he refuses to be verbally checkmate’d by some kid vigilante (there's a small part of him having a crisis over calling a possibly-30-year-old a ‘kid’), so he changes the subject.

“You can call me Tony, you know,” he almost says the crack about only his board members calling him Mr. Stark, but that pulls him into a dizzying deja vu that doesn’t bode too well to think about, so he leaves it out.

The guy is silent for a beat, “Je suis désolé je ne peux pas,” _I’m sorry, I can’t,_ he says, almost sad and bittersweet. There’s something profound there, the accent masks some of the emotion, but it still makes it through.

“What about Anthony? C’mon, Mr. Stark makes me feel old.” Tony readily ignores everything Rhodey’s saying to him on their private comm.

“Anthony,” the guy tries out, sounds strange, like he’s uncomfortable with it, in that put-on French accent, and shakes his head, “pour l'avenir prévisible, vous êtes M. Stark, désolé,” _for the foreseeable future, you're Mr Stark, sorry,_ he says, apologetic.

“Okay then,” Tony says, resignedly, easily, “what do I call you?”

“Nomad,” he replies, in that same, soft accent. Friday tells him that Nomad’s heart rate is elevated. She also tells him that his resting heart rate was about 10 bpm. Either he’s dying, or he’s superhuman. Or maybe just an incredible athlete who’s decided to turn to crimefighting. Based on the way he’s standing upright and chatting with them, he highly doubts its the former.

“A man without a country?”

“Ne me faites pas y penser,” _Don’t make me think about it,_ he says, lightly, with a touch of melancholy. And with that, he walks away.

“Why are all of them dark and broody,” Tony mutters to Rhodey.

“Why are you flirting with the darkest and the broodiest?” 

“I’m making friends!” Tony protests. “You’re the one saying I should go out more.”

“There’s something I don’t like about him,” Rhodey grumbles and Tony can see the ‘overprotective mama bear’ instinct take over.

“You don’t like any of the secret identity types.”

“I like Peter!”

-

Rhodey tells Tony to stay away from Nomad. So Tony actively seeks him out. He first goes to Rand, who gives him Murdock’s cell, because he’s actually seen Nomad around - apparently, he’s new. Like, _brand_ new. Murdock give him Nomad’s cell - with a warning that he has a flip-phone (god DAMN vigilantes) which he uses like a modern teenager. Meaning he doesn’t have the patience to text and only sometimes has silent off. Tony donates some money to Murdock’s firm for the help. Anonymously, but Murdock’s a smart guy.

The thing about Nomad is that he can’t _not_ go after him, he’s for whatever damn reason, gravitated towards a guy who he met fighting giant mechanical wasps, who he doesn’t know what he looks like, or his name, or anything.

Which is how, a month after Guepe-Homme, he’s sitting on a wall, eating surprisingly good pie from the diner a couple feet away, with Nomad next to him. He has the FRIDAY glasses on. Nomad is dressed in regular civvie clothes, though he has a cap pulled low over his eyes, sunglasses, and a beard hiding his features. He supposes that it could draw an eye, maybe even some second glances, but this is New York, so he barely gets a first glance. (Something tells Tony that it would merit a lot more than a second glance if he weren’t wearing a short-sleeved t-shirt, very clearly showing that he’s white.)

“So,” Tony starts.

“Alors…” _So…_ Nomad repeats, tilting his head.

“Other languages?”

He thinks he lets out a laugh. It’s some strange huff thing like he’s trying to stop it.

“Français, bien sûr, anglais, mais vous le saviez, irlandais, un peu allemand, italien,” _French, of course, English, but you knew it, Irish, a little German, Italian,_ he stutters over ‘Italian’, his heart rate speeds up when he says it.

“Italian?”

“J'essayais d'impressionner un ami,” _I was trying to impress a friend,_ he says, shrugging, like it was no big deal. Just learning another whole language. For a friend. His heart rate increases again.

“Good friend?” Tony asks, there’s more in the question that he’s not saying, but he’s pretty sure that Steve understands.

“Best. The best man I ever knew.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!! a comment/kudo/ a [reblog of this post](https://ineffablestarkrogers.tumblr.com/post/187083563121/godamn-vigilantes) is greatly appreciated <33


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